


Something So Good

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Series: The Lessons of the Goddess of Shinobi [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Dorks in Love, F/M, Female Senju Hashirama, Idiots in Love, Loving Marriage, Married Couple, Married Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-06-30 14:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19855360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: Madara will never understand why Hashirama allows him to be so rough with her, to leave marks and bruises and bleeding bites. She even encouraged it, the idiot.





	Something So Good

The house they bought after they got married was small and humble, not particularly fitting of two major clan leaders and a Hokage, but something much more suited to two lovers who'd conquered ages of war for a chance. Just off the main road through the village but still central, it was surrounded by trees and stunning gardens. Large windows seen light filter in through the leaves, dappling the floor of their living room and kitchen, feeding the window box herbs and fragrant potted flowers. 

It was not what Madara had envisioned when he had lain in the sun as a child, thinking of peace and how different he would be as a father than his own. He probably should have, once Hashirama came into his life. It didn't matter to him as a boy, whether or not Hashirama had been male or female - he'd just accepted it now that she was always the only one who had his heart. But then, this simple life didn't befit someone of Hashirama's stature either. 

He'd always imagined her in a clan house, with massive zen gardens, high walls and domed ceilings. She belonged in splendour the likes of which only the Daimo was capable (not that he would ever allow their disgusting whims to trap her in their cage), to be draped in shimmering silks and bathed in jasmine petals in her personal hotspring. 

As always, he should have known better. 

Hashirama was no damsel prone to fits of fainting, no light-stepping noble daughter playing coy behind a fan. She was a shinobi, _the_ shinobi, so very overwhelming in her very presence that many could not muster the will to fight against her. And yet, despite that towering advantage, she was planted very firmly to the ground, humble to her bones. It was her imagination and aspirations in the clouds, not her ego, and it was the very reason so many adored her. She didn't wear silks unless it was required, took normal baths with efficient, scentless soaps and didn't own one shining hair pin. Her clothes were cotton and baggy, made for work and comfort. Her armour was her most expensive part of her wardrobe, polished and oiled with care on a stand, alongside her folded underarmour. 

Everything they were when they came together was this house, this little sanctuary - pure and fragile and so, so beautiful. 

And yet . . . 

* * *

He knocked the door shut without preamble, slamming her back into the wall with a growl. 

She dropped the bag she'd brought with her to the training field and unfastened the clasp holding his own gear to his body. Both of them had abandoned their shirts during their spar, her breasts contained by mesh armour bound tightly. He'd been the one to do it before they left, and they almost hadn't made it out of the house. 

She leaned back when he pushed into her personal space, surrendering to his desire. His teeth find her throat, to the perfect brown skin there, and sink in savagely. Her breath stutters in her chest, her hands weaving into his hair to grip tightly, but noticeably not to guide. She lets him take and take, licking the sweat and blood from her neck. One hand slid around her waist, the other grabbing a thigh and hoisting it up around his waist. She groaned from deep in her chest, her eyes fluttering shut as he pressed them firmly together, grinding with the same kind of desperate cruelty he bit her with.

He will never understand why she allows him to be so rough with her, to leave marks and bruises and bleeding bites. She even encouraged it, the idiot. 

_"I love this peace," She told him, gently stroking a fading bruise, "but at the end of the day, I'm a shinobi at my core. I crave the violence."_

"Look at me." He demanded, already lost to the haze of lust. 

Only she had this effect on him. He'd looked through all of the women the clan elders tried to foist off onto him and felt nothing at best, disdain at worst. He wanted nothing from them, saw nothing they had to offer him. She could ignite his entire body with just a look, a touch to his cheek, a flick of her hair. She could whisper through his thoughts and his body would drive him to seek her out. Before her, he was almost certain he had no sex drive. Now, he was lucky if he could survive being without her body for a few days. It was honestly a miracle that they managed to be half as productive as they were, that they'd somehow built the village and a life together before falling into bed. Looking back, he wasn't sure how they'd never fucked on the battlefield before. As enjoyable as battling her always was, sex with her was better. 

Her eyes opened again, half-lidded and seductive. Her dark eyes were as black as his, her mouth open and waiting. He wanted to kiss her, to steal the breath from her lungs. He barred his teeth at her instead. 

"What do you think I was doing our whole spar?" She raised an eyebrow at him, her fingertips brushing the back of his neck. So rarely was it touched, it sent tingles right down to the balls of his feet. He jerked against her in retaliation, and she hissed. "Madara . . . "

"Hashirama." He bit the other side of her neck just because, hoisting her off the wall and wrapping her legs around his waist. "Tell me what you want."

She gathered his hair into one hand, revealing his entire face, running her free hand over his jaw. "I've had my legs wrapped around you all day. I want to skip the drama and get you inside me."

He grinned. "Extensive foreplay it is."

She tilted his head back, pressing a kittenish kiss to his lips. "Just remember which of us can bind the other to the bed at will. If you leave me hanging too long, I'll take what I want and leave you to settle yourself the rest of the night."

"So it's a crime to like to play with your thighs now, is it?"

"Madara, when you inevitably wake me up for sex at the crack of dawn, you can take all the time you want leaving hickeys and winding me up." She abruptly yanked his hair hard enough to make him stumble and his knees weaken. "Leave me sore enough to enjoy being pampered tomorrow morning."

His returning smile was feral. "Now, now, Hashirama. Where's your sense of romance? Can't a husband indulge in his wife?"

"Every action has an equal reaction, Madara. You're more than welcome to make the decision."

When she made threats during sex, he'd learned the hard way that she meant them. When she was keyed up after a spar or a long away mission or the damn Council backtalking her, she got what she wanted from him no matter what. Even if that meant he was struggling against tree limbs with an erection for the better part of the night while she slept off her afterglow. 

He didn't waste time getting them to the bedroom, dropping her down onto their mattress. She let him go, turning onto her stomach with a suggestive wink and pulling her hair over a shoulder. He made quick work of the laces of her binding, letting the material fall away. He cut off the ninja tape securing her pants to her ankles and her kunai holster to her thigh, then his own in short order. He pulled off their sandals, tossing them away carelessly (likely to trip on them during the night). She raised her hips, glancing at him over her shoulder, and he pulled the pants down off her hips. 

"Stunning." He rumbled, sliding his hands along the slope of her back. She arched into it in a feline fashion, stretching out in a tantalizing display. Everything about her was erotic and daring. 

He felt vines creep about his ankles and snorted in humour. He quickly undressed himself, climbing up the bed to loom over her. She arched up to press into him, sighing in relief when their skin made contact. 

"Do you surrender, Shodaime?" He breathed against her nape. 

"To you, always." She answered readily, tilting her head to the side to look at him. His eyes were pulsing, the Sharingan just under the surface threatening to break free. "Let it go, love. Remember good things alongside the battles."

Immediately, it spun to life in his eyes and he groaned like a wounded animal. "You bring out the worst in me."

"Please, I doubt you're the first Uchiha who's used the Sharingan like this." She smirked. "And you won't the last."

"That's very likely." He admitted. "But that doesn't mean you have to encourage my poor behaviour."

"When have I ever done anything but reward you?" 

He ground against her ass, making them both moan. "Never, my dear. It's part of the reason I love you so."

She pulled her legs up underneath her, kneeling with her chest pressed into the bedding. "I need you."

He was quick to comply. Just as Hashirama had endless patience for him, he could deny her nothing.

One of his hands braced him above her, the other holding her hip in a bruising grip. He slid into her without pretense, sheathing quickly and forcefully. She snarled under him, but arched into his touch.

"That's right, Hashirama." He leaned down to nip at her ear and pull the lobe, his voice a threatening rumble. "Fight back. You think a matchstick like yourself can withstand Uchiha fire? Prove it."

"It's you who has something to prove." She shot back, reaching up to fist his hair, yanking him down to cover her back. "I'm not some waif knocked out cold when you walk in a room. Fuck me like you mean it, or can you not even follow a simple directive from your Hokage?"

With a snarl, he sunk his teeth into her shoulder, forcing her back down with his body weight. The taste and texture of blood was familiar to him, and not simply because of these encounters. It brought out his most dangerous aspects. He could feel the Sharingan spinning, recording everything. 

He braced himself more properly, knees kicking hers further apart and arms bracketing her in, taking hold of her free hand. He gave a few testing thrusts, feeling her out. 

"Was I unclear?" She snapped, chakra lighting up her fingertips. "I said-"

He let her shoulder go, sinking his sharp teeth into the back of her neck and savagely picking up the pace, unconcerned for her comfort. He held her down and used her like the toy she was, the easy, warm body she was supposed to be. 

"Yes- Madara- _Yes_ -"

His Mangekyo flared to life, his free hand grabbing the necklace pinned under her and wrapping his digits around her throat. If she could talk, he wasn't doing it right. She wanted to be fucked until she needed healing, and he was going to deliver. 

She squealed when he put his whole body into the motions, the hand in his hair spasming and coming loose. Her jaw fell slack and any resistance she might have had disappeared under his onslaught. 

He'd had sex with very few women before her, and she very few before him simply because of the nature of their positions. But even those loose women practising sex as their trade weren't treated like this. No, this type of cruelty was reserved for Hashirama alone, the only living person who could endure it, his only equal. In dark moments, he considers what shape his world would have taken had she been a man as he initially assumed. 

Who would he have become, kept from Hashirama by their inability to reproduce? Angry and violent, he could easily see. There was no outlet quite like a lover, and Hashirama was a prize no matter the reality she was in. He was grateful, in any case, that she was his here and now. He would make sure she knew it, give her exactly what she came to him for. 

Her body gave out under the brutal onslaught, entirely focused on where they were joined. Her mouth was slack and her eyes unfocused, her fingers twitching with each jolt of his hips. 

"That's right." He purred, releasing her hand and sitting up, pulling her with him by the throat. The necklace gave her clacked against his knuckles, the gem catching the dying sunlight. "How are you feeling now, my pretty Senju princess? Are you on fire yet?"

Her hand wrapped around his forearm, the other reaching back to clutch at his hip. "Madara- Mad _ara-_ "

"Yes." He hissed, biting her earlobe and pulling at it. " _Yes_ , Hashirama. That's my girl."

She gasped weakly, wetly, when his free hand slid down her waist to her hips, taking advantage of her spread thighs. His fingers quested down to where they were joined, playing with her spread folds. 

"So wanton, my own personal harlot." He mocked, eyes locked on her rapturous expression. "You turned away all those Senju men, everyone your elders wanted you to bend over for. But you were waiting for me, weren't you? I'm the only one worthy of your body, of being the father of your children. The swelling belly I'm going to give you belongs only to me."

Her breath hitched and her nails sunk into his arm and thigh. "My husband-"

"Yes, blossom. Only me. I'll fill you so full you'll never escape me. I'll carve out a place in your heart and body without mercy, and everyone will know."

"Yes! Madara, give me- give me babies-" She choked on her own air, riding a particularly vicious thrust. "Your babies, want them all. So many, Madara, so many with the Sharingan-"

They'd talked in abstracts before their friendship escalated about children and their obligations to produce them. He'd not particularly cared, but he's listened to her vent her mistrust over the arranged matches. To be a mother was to surrender her agency to the child and it's father, to submit completely to another and live at their discretion. She had been so terrified of it, so resistant and distrustful of the intentions of any man who approached her. His talk of children now was partially rooted in his own fantasy - Hashirama in any state drove him mad with desire but pregnancy was the only one he'd yet to experience. To hear her respond, to encourage him to give her a family, a build a clan and legacy all their own . . . Well, who was he to turn down his wife?

"How many, Hashirama?" He groused, kicking up speed and making her internals shudder. "I'll give them to you. Flaunt you before the entire ninja world as the only man able to tame the Goddess of Shinobi. The only man able to make you beg for anything."

"I want them if they're yours." She stammered, eyes clenched shut. "Ruin me for anyone else."

"I intend to."

The fingers caressing her folds moved up and began to massage her clit. He half wished he could get his mouth down to her, to see and taste her come, sobbing and soaked. He wasn't intent on moving from this perfect position, however. When he pinched her clit, her whole body spasmed around him. Blood rushed from his head directly to his over-swollen member. He repeated the motion, harder with a mean grind of his hips and her body locked, clenched tight and unmoving before it gave way all at once. 

_She just blacked out on me_. 

Spasms and shudders carried through her body anyway, even if her mind was not present to comprehend, and he let himself finish inside of her with a wounded groan of his own. 

His arms were shaking as he laid her down on the bed, spooning up behind her. She continued to twitch and jerk for ten minutes, slowing in intensity until she blinked awake. 

"Madara?"

"I'm here." He replied, pulling her tighter to him. "I'm here, love."

She laid back against him with a grateful sigh. He continued to pepper kisses along her mangled shoulders, still sluggishly bleeding. 

"Heal?" She asked. 

"Yes."

It was their tradition after rough, violent sex for her to lay her hand over his and run them over her broken skin and muscle, using her healing ability to be rid of the marks. It alleviated the sudden and dark guilt for placing those marks on his wife, even if she'd been the one to ask for them. She always leaked her chakra into him too, soothing away muscle aches and her own scratches. 

He noted the closed and vanishing wounds on her neck, rumbling contentedly in his chest. "I love you, Hashirama."

"I love you too." She turned in his arms to face him, smiling softly and sincerely in the fading light. "I love you so much."

He purred as she ran her fingers through his hair. She always treated him so well, caring for his 'Dom drop' with sweet kisses and lilted praise. 

"I wasn't kidding, you know." She said, breaking the peaceful ambience of the evening birds and bugs. 

"About?" He was drowsy, a common side effect of feeling her healing chakra flow through his body. 

"Children."

He opened an eye, peering at her. 

"I've always loved kids and wanted a large family of my own." She smiled in that melancholy tinge that came with memories. "To bear a family as big as mine was growing up and see them to adulthood and families of their own. I was always scared that I would be downgraded because of it, pushed aside for whatever husband the clan eventually forced on me. But it's not the same with you."

He knew that already - otherwise she wouldn't have married him - but it never hurt to hear you're special, either. "How so?"

"I get giddy thinking about the very thought of bearing you children. I want to walk into the backyard with a babe at my breast as you teach the others to fight. I want to see the love and hunger in your eyes over my swell. I've never wanted to settle before you, and I never wanted to offer my body like this to anyone else."

"So do I." He admitted. "I want your children to be mine, to be responsible for your pregnant waddle, to be woken by tiny hands I helped create. I want to take everything you have to give me, without exception."

"Then we should start." She kissed him tenderly. "I'll give my herb plant to Mito in the morning."

"I could never ask for anything more than you already are." He pulled her into him completely, tucking her head under his. 

They lay in silence for another few minutes. 

"You never take off the necklace I gave you, do you?"

"No." She stroked over his head. "I don't."


End file.
